Pride or Prejudice
by Benedict-luvz-you
Summary: This story is a story that I wrote a while back called Unnoticed. But it got taken down. I couldn't bear to part with it completely so I've made some changes. I (Obviously) named it differently too.
1. Chapter 1

"Sherlock? Where are you?" John called into the empty apartment. It was 11:oo in the morning and Sherlock hadn't been home that night. At least he didn't think he was. They had been out all evening working on a case and Sherlock had stayed all night and refused to go until he had solved it.

"Oh bugger. Now i have to go out and find him." John whispered under his breath as he pulled on his coat and shoes.

Sherlock

3:27 am

Sherlock grumbled under his breath and pulled his trench coat as a defence against the wind.

He was walking down an alleyway where he hoped his main suspect was.

"You lost little boy?" A gruff voice behind him barked out.

Sherlock whirled around to look at the speaker to see a rather large man easily 6'5 and 250 lbs.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock said backing away from the stench coming from the man.

"You look lost, Sherlock."

Sherlock just stared at the man.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, taking a defensive step back.

"That doesn't matter who we are, just what we want with you."

"We?"

Sherlock looked around to see 3 other large men walking toward him.

"Nighty-night Sherlock Holmes." The first man said and threw a hard punch to the side of Sherlock's face. He felt himself tumble back into another one of the men and he felt himself tumble toward the ground. He hit it with such force he nearly blacked out.

Everything felt foggy and far away.

"Maybe this will teach you to stay out of other people's buisness." he heard one of the men say through the fog.

He felt a hard metal object hit the back of his head. By the weight of it, he guessed it was a crow bar.

The last thing he remembered was the force of the men's boots hitting his head and chest.

John

12:45 pm

John walked down the street looking into the alleyways and the doors of the street shops for Sherlock. He had been out in the cold for more than an hour.

"Where are you Sherlock?" John whispered and watched his breath swirl in the cold.

He bagan walking down an alleyway when he heard a groan from a garbage can beside him.

He walked over and flipped up the lid to reveal a crumpled and bleeding Sherlock laying amongst the newspapers and garbage bags.

"Oh my god Sherlock!" John exclaimed and reached down to pull Sherlock out of the trash. Sherlock fell to the ground and started groaning.

John immediately started to examine him.

"What happened Sherlock?" John held him up against the trash can.

"I don't know. I..." Sherlock stopped to cough.

"I'm calling an ambulance." John pulled out his cell phone and began talking while keeping Sherlock awake.

Sherlock

Sherlock opened his eyes to see John sitting beside him in the ambulance.

"John." Sherlock reached his hand up to John only to have it brought back down by the weight of the pain killers.

"It's okay Sherlock. We're heading to the hospital now. You'll be okay." John fought back the urge to hug Sherlock.

Sherlock began to lose consienceness again.

"Just hold on Sherlock." John's voice was the last thing he heard before completely blacking out again.

The steady beeping of Sherlock's heart moniter was the only sound in the white, steril room.

Sherlock fought the fog out of his mind and slowly opened his eyes to see that he was laying down in a hospital room. He turned his head to see John asleep in a very uncomfortable looking chair.

He unconciously smiled at the fact that John had stayed the night there just to make sure he was okay. Sherlock turned his head to the celing and began to think about the night before.

"Sherlock?" He turned his head to see John smiling and stretching his back from the night on the chair.

"How long have you been awake?" John stood up and walked around the small room to stretch his muscles.

"About an hour or two." Sherlock raised his bed to a sitting position. What happened last night?" Sherlock asked as he watched John stretch, noticing the way his back arched and the face he made and stored the images away in his mind palace for later examination.

"Last night? Sherlock, you've been out for 3 days." John stopped stretching and pulled the chair closer to Sherlock's bed and plopped down on it.

Silence filled the room as Sherlock took in the new information.

"3 days?" Sherlock whispered.

"Yep."

"Well, what happened that night?" Sherlock looked unusualy interested, like John was about to tell him about a new case.

Uh, well i found you in a garbage can. You were missing your trench coat, oddly. You were all beaten up and bloody. When the ambulance arived, you had blacked out and were unconcious and i couldn't get you to wake up." John stopped. "I thought you were..."

Sherlock could see the tears threatening to spill out of John's eyes.

Silence again invaded the room as John choked back tears.

John continued. "You had almost bled to death. If I didn't find you when I did..."

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Did you stay here the whole time?"

"Mostly. I took the time off from work. I went and got your cloths from the apartment by the way." John pointed toward the table where Sherlock's favorite purple shirt and a pair of pants lay neatly folded.

"Thank you John. Really." Sherlock smiled a half smile at John. "Why don't you go find a nurse and figure out when I can get out of here." Sherlock asked and began to get up from the bed.

John sighed and got up to go look for a nurse. He stopped and turned to see Sherlock with the pants on and reached for the shirt. He couldn't help but notice Sherlock's muscular back and pale skin. He felt a shiver go down his spine.

What the hell? John quickly walked out of the room and down toward the reception desk.

I'm not gay. Am I? No. I'm not. John began to wonder if what he was telling himself was true.

Back in the room Sherlock could feel John hesitate before leaving. Sherlock pulled on his shirt.

Sherlock cursed under his breath as he tried to pull on the shirt over his bandages and his arm cast.

"Sherlock?" He heard John's voice from the door. He turned around to see John with a stack of papers in his hands. John stifled a laugh when he saw the detective.

"Uhm Sherlock?" John laughed.

Sherlock had managed to get stuck in the shirt with his casted arm and all the bandages.

"Oh shut up and help me will you" Sherlock seemed almost out of breath from the hastle with the shirt.

John set the papers down on the bed and went over to help Sherlock with his shirt.

"I find it funny that the one and only Sherlock Holmes who can take on basically anything in the world gets stuck in his own shirt."

Sherlock just huffed as he put his casted arm through the hole in the shirt.

"Do I even want to know how that happened?" John asked as Sherlock turned to face him.

"Uh, no." Sherlock smirked.

Silence seeped into the room once again.

John cleared his throat and looked away from Sherlock's eyes and went to pick up the discharge papers.

"Ready?" John asked, heading toward the door.

John

John and Sherlock walked in the door of 221b and heard music playing.

Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft." John chucked.

"You should have called Sherlock. I have a phone you know." Mycroft sat on Sherlock's chair twirling his umbrella.

"I must've dropped it when i was beat mercilessly in an alley." Sherlock shot an irritated and slightly sarcastic look at Mycroft.

"You what?" John and Mycroft look at Sherlock in awe.

"Yes, that's what happened. Didn't I tell you John?" Sherlock motioned for Mycroft to move so he could sit down.

"Uh, no. You didn't."

"Oh, well that's what happened."

Mycroft's phone pinged. "I have to go. Some idiot from Iran tried to declare war on us. Please excuse me. John, Sherlock." Mycroft nodded and headed toward the door.

They heard the door slam and almost instantly John looked from the door to where Sherlock sat and glared at him. Sherlock didn't seem to notice.

"Why didn't you tell me that's what happened?!" John yelled. Sherlock opened his mouth to answer but John cut him off. "Seriously Sherlock. What if they intended to kill you? I could barely stand 2 years without you. How would I stand an entire life without you?" John whispered more to himself but Sherlock heard anyway.

"I don't see the big deal John. So I didn't tell you how I got hurt. It's in the past, why should it matter?" Sherlock seemed unfazed.

"Dammit Sherlock! Don't you get it? I care about you! God, you are so thick you know that?" Sherlock could see the tears threatening to spill out of John's eyes.

John stood up and walked into the kitchen and (violently) started to make tea.

"Sentiment is only a downside to being human John. Don't let it control your actions." Sherlock said, picking up a newspaper from the table.

John stopped. He felt the tears begin to run down his cheeks. He slammed the kettle down on the counter. He walked to his room and slammed the door, startling Sherlock from his reading.

Sherlock stood up and padded quietly to John's room and stopped at the door. He knocked lightly before opening the door, revealing John lying on his back on his bed. Sherlock could see that he was crying.

"John I didn't know it was that big of a deal. I'm sorry." Sherlock began to feel bad for not telling John what had happened.

John stood up and walked over to Sherlock, stopping inches from his face. Sherlock could feel John's ragged breath on his face.

"I never left that room. I waited there for you to wake up, wondering if you ever would. And you're sorry? Well so am I. Sorry for wasting my time and energy on something that is apperently small and insignificant to you." John fought the urge to begin to cry again.

Sherlock didn't say anything. Instead he studied John's face. He had never had the chance to look at him this close before. He noticed the coloring of his eyes, a steely blue. He noticed the perfectly tan color of his skin, smooth and flawless. He noticed his mouth, a straight line, soft and unmoving. He noticed his sandy hair, short and perfectly cut. He was practically flawless and he was beautiful. Sherlock felt an unfamilliar fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach.

John also looked at Sherlock intently, never having the chance to study the detective's face either. He noticed theamazing blue-green color with a touch of gold around the black. He noticed the pale ashen color of his skin. He noticed the ebony curls sitting motionless on top of his head. He noticed Sherlock's mouth, curvy and just the right color. John felt his heart melt.

Sherlock looked down and left John standing there and returned to his chair and continued reading, shaking off the fluttery feeling as being part of the slight guilt.

John stood in the doorway of his room just staring at the wall, still picturing Sherlock so close to him. He realized that the thought had quickly turned dirty and discarded it. He walked slowly out into the sitting room and sat down.

"I really am sorry John. I didn't know it would be this big of deal." Sherlock was peering over his paper at John.

"I just don't know what I would do if you didn't wake up. It's a miracle that you are alive at all. The doctors said you wouldn't pull through after all the blood you lost."

Neither of them spoke for a while.

Sherlock

2:07 am

John had gone to bed and now it was just Sherlock. He stood by the window, composing a new song on his violin.

He couldn't stop thinking about the time spent just looking at John and studying his features. He kept replaying the scene in his head over and over. He wished he had more time to just look at him.

Sherlock began to wander his mind palace. He wandered to where he kept his personal information. He looked at a room marked, John. He bagan to wonder why there was an entire room dedicated to him. Mycroft didn't so why did John? He opened the door and pulled out a file and began reading.

NAME: John Hamish Watson

AGE: Unknown

HEIGHT: 5'7

EYE COLOR: blue

HAIR COLOR: Sandy blonde

He stopped to think. Was this all from that glance? He put the file back and wandered around the rather large room. He saw photos of John at the most random times. When he was eating, drinking tea, watching the telly, writing about his blog, and then there was one photo that was on a wall on its own. It was the close up of John. Sherlock stood there, staring at it.

He spent the rest of his time going through the folders of was abruptly taken from his mind palace by a spoon being thrown at the back of his head.

"Sherlock!" John was standing in the kitchen in his pajamas and robe holding a cup of tea.

"Why are you throwing eating utencils at my head?" Sherlock set down his violin, realizing he had held it up to his chin all night, and walked into the kitchen.

"You weren't answering me." John went to sit down on his chair. Sherlock had followed, rubbing the feeling back into his arms.

"Were you trying to talk to me?" Sherlock asked, sitting down.

"Yeah."

"What about?"

John hesitated, wondering if he should repeat what he had said.

"Nothing important. Just that I have the day off." John took a sip of his tea.

John's point of view from the spoon throwing incident

John woke to his alarm clock. He checked the time, 9:30 am. He rolled out of bed and threw on his robe.

Out in the sitting room, next to the window was Sherlock, holding his violin but playing nothing, staring off into space.

"Good morning Sherlock." John waited for a reply as he made his tea. No sound came from Sherlock. The only sign he was alive was the steady rise and fall of his shoulders.

"I was thinking about last night. I shouldn't have yelled at you. You were right. It really wasn't a big deal you didn't tell me." John stopped talking to think.

"I was actually thinking about..." He stopped and turned to look at Sherlock. Most likely not listening so John continued to talk.

"I was thinking about how amazing you looked when I stood close to you and how you smelled so good. Like aftershave and tea." He stopped to see if Sherlock had moved.

"Sherlock, you're making me question my sexuality. You and your hair and your cheekbones." Sherlock hadn't moved an inch. "You are amazing in a lot of ways and you are beautiful in a lot of ways but you can also be a dick." John sighed. He looked at the spoon in his hand and chucked it at the back of Sherlock's head. It bounced off and fell to the ground and Sherlock whirled around.

End chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

"You know there are different ways of getting me to respond than throwing a spoon at my head." Sherlock rubbed his head where the spoon hit his head.

"Oh really? Like what?" John set his tea cup down and looked at Sherlock.

"Like, traveling the 3 meters to tap me on the shoulder."

Sherlock looked at John expecting an answer but recieved only a laugh from the doctor. John tried to smother his laughter and replied throught giggles, "How many times have I done that and you not respond?"

Sherlock just stared at his flatmate.

"If i had a quid for each time I did that and you continued to what ever you do," Sherlock interrupted him. "I go to my mind palace by the way." John continued. "Whatever. If I did have a quid for each time I did that and failed, I would be rich."

Sherlock didn't respond. There was a long and drawn out silence between them. After a few minutes, Sherlock quickly stood from his chair and began walking toward the bathroom.

"I'm going to take a shower." John didn't have time to respond before he heard the door slam and the water turn on. A few moments later, Sherlock emerged with a rather large purple towel tied around his waist. John turned his head toward Sherlock and felt his face grow hot at the sight of Sherlock shirtless again.

"How the hell am I supposed to take a shower with all these bandages and this arm cast?" He pointed to the biggest bandage, on his shouldler, and held up his cast.

"Uh..." John stammered, obviously uncomfortable. "Try a sponge bath." John said, his face getting redder by the second.

Sherlock groaned. "sponge baths are so annoying, why are you turning red?" Sherlock's voice turned from disgust to wonder and his face followed.

John stuttered for words but had none. Sherlock stood with his arms awkwardly crossed on his chest.

"I...I'm not." John turned his head away and towards his book.

Sherlock just laughed and retreated back to the bathroom. The only sound in the flat was the running water and Sherlock loudly singing an opra as usual. Suddenly there was a loud roaring sound and a scraping sound.

John jumped up and ran to the bathroom. He knocked loudly on the door. "Sherlock what the hell are you doing in there!" John yelled over the noise.

Suddenly the wiring stopped. Sherlock opened the door to reveal what he had been doing. On the counter lay a wood cutting saw and Sherlock's cast. Sherlock was in the door way with an enormous smile on his face. He held up both arms.

John just stood in front of Sherlock, his mouth open and his eyes on the detective in disbelief.

"I got it off." Sherlock said happily and once again closed the bathroom door and continued singing.

John didn't know what to do or think. he just stood in front of the door, replaying the scene in his mind.

"Sherlock you crazy bastard." John whispered to himself, smiled and walked back toward his chair and plopped down.

Sherlock stood in the shower watching the water escape down the drain. A thousand thoughts were going throught his head at once.

Why was John's face so red? He seemed so uncomfortable. Was it because I was only in a towel? Why would that make him uncomfortable?

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his face. He decided to go visit his mind palace.

Sherlock walked down the empty halls of his mind palace listening to the echoes of memories from inside the doors he passed. Sherlock knew what he was looking for. His security door. A door that basically recorded all sounds from when he was in here.

He walked down the halls for quite a while before seeing a rusty door marked, SECURITY.

"Finally." He whispered, although he knew there was no one around to hear.

He pushed on the door and it slowly slid open with a groan. Inside, there was only a chair. It didn't matter. Sherlock knew how to access the sound records. He walked in and sat in the chair and began to listen to all the sounds until he found the one he was looking for. He recognized it by the few minutes of violin songs he played at the time. The recording played on, long hours of silence interruped by John's voice.

"Good morning Sherlock. I was thinking about last night. I shouldn't have yelled at you. You were right. It really wasn't a big deal you didn't tell me."

Silence.

"I was actually thinking about... I was thinking about how amazing you looked when I stood close to you and how you smelled so good. Like aftershave and tea."

Sherlock paused the recording. He thought for a moment. About what John had said.

He said I looked amazing. And that I smelled good. What?

Sherlock continued the rocording.

"Sherlock, you're making me question my sexuality. You and your hair and your cheekbones. You are amazing in a lot of ways and you are beautiful in a lot of ways but you can also be a dick."

There was a loud thumping sound and the tape ended.

Sherlock walked out of his mind palace and joined the real world.

I'm making him question his sexuality? What about my cheekbones? He said I was beautiful. Why would he tell me that?

A million thoughts were going through his head at once when they were interrupted by a sudden knock at the door.

"Sherlock! What are you doing? You've been in there for an hour and a half!" John's voice echoed throught the bathroom.

"I'll be out in a minute!" Sherlock responded

Sherlock pulled on his shirt, still thinking about what John had said. The words rang through his mind.

'Making me question my sexuality...you and your hair and your cheekbones.'

Sherlock opened the bathroom and walked down the hall and plopped down in his chair. He stared at John reading his book, noticing everything. The way his fingers curved around the edges, the way his brow bent when he was reading, the way he crossed his legs and moved his foot up and down.

Sherlock thought about bringing up what John had said about him.

"John." Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

John looked up from his book at Sherlock. "Yes Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't even know where to start. How would he tell John he heard what he said that morning?

"I... There's something I have to tell you." Sherlock looked down at his bare feet.

There was silence. "Well, go ahead." John encouraged.

"I..." Sherlock swallowed. "I heard what you said this morning. I mean about me."

John's face turned white. "Uh, I... I.." John stuttered.

"Stop. Don't try to cover up what you said. It's actually quite flattering that you fancy me, sort of." Sherlock smiled.

John, now very red in the face stood from his chair and walked into the kitchen to make tea.

Sherlock sat for a minute, contemplating his feelings for his flatmate.

I don't do 're unnecessary and take a lot of work to keep them "healthy". Although...

Sherlock looked at John bustling about in the kitchen. His eyes wandered to the arch of John's back and imagined his hand there, pressing his flatmate close to him. Sherlock found himself aroused and shivered.

He stood up and walked silently in the kitchen and stood behind John, who was trying to decide between peppermint and lemon.

"Sherlock, do you want Peppermint or lemon?" John called without turning around.

Sherlock stood inches from the back of John. He leaned his head toward John's ear, careful not to alarm John and let him know he was there.

"Lemon would be fabulous." Sherlock whispered into John's ear in a low and seductive whisper.

John jumped at the sound, almost dropping the teas. He whirled around, his face now inches from Sherlock's.

"Lemon." Sherlock smiled at John.

Sherlock 's hand slid to John's back, exactly the way Sherlock had imagined. He placed his hand on the arch and pulled John closer.

"If it's worth anything, you're making me question my sexuality too." Sherlock whispered in the low, seductive voice.

John was frozen in place, his eyes were fixed on Sherlock's amazing blue ones.

Sherlock closed the space between them with a small kiss. John felt his stomach get hot and his head began to spin. At first, John was stunned, but after a few moments, he melted into Sherlock. His arms wrapped around the Detective's neck. He kissed Sherlock back with a pleading to explore his mouth. Sherlock opened his mouth to welcome John. He slid his tongue in and explored every spot. Sherlock returned the favor. John's hand slid up and he began running his hand through Sherlock's curly hair.

Sherlock pulled away from John, their foreheads still touching. John stared into the detectives eyes. The usually reserved and emotionless face of Sherlock was now filled with love and happiness.

"That was unexpected." John gasped. Sherlock smiled.

"I couldn't help myself." Sherlock's smile grew wider.

John inhaled the intoxicating scent of Sherlock, aftershave and tea. He felt Sherlock's warm and comforting breath on his face

"Sherlock, can I tell you something?" John said, still looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't respond but John could tell he was listening by the look in his eyes.

"I love you. You're amazing and smart and handsome. You make me happy. Before we met, I didn't know what happiness was really. My life was plain. I had no adventure. But life with you, I'm never bored. And I love it."

Sherlock didn't respond. He only smiled at the confession.

The embrace was broken by Mrs. Hudson's voice. "Oh my! I'll come back later."

John and Sherlock reluctantly let go of each other.

"You've already ruined the moment. What is it Mrs. Hudson?" Sherlock looked at her. He could see that she had gained a few pounds in the last month and that he could see that she had just recently bought the shoes that she was wearing and already didn't like them.

"There's a client downstairs." Mrs. Hudson pointed toward the door.

"We're busy. Tell them to come back later." Sherlock was now annoyed and his voice showed it.

Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock and John a Mischievous look and walked back downstairs.

The moment she was out of sight Sherlock turned toward the sitting room and sat down in it, grabbing a newspaper on the way down. John followed, still looking dazed.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before John broke it.

"Are we going to talk about what happened in the kitchen?" John asked.

"What is there to talk about? We kissed. Isn't that an obvious sign of affection?" Sherlock looked puzzled.

John looked at Sherlock.

"Well, yes but, i mean if that kiss was just a passing thing or if it will happen again."

"I rather enjoyed it." Sherlock knew he was underestimating how much he enjoyed it. He wanted to leap at John and bury his hands in John's straight, sandy hair. He wanted to close the space between them. To feel the warmth of John's tongue against his own. To feel his body pressed against the doctor's. To feel John's hands pulling on his hair.

"Did you?" Sherlock shifted in his seat.

"Yes, why wouldn't I?" John smiled at the detective.

"Then I would say it should happen again." Sherlock returned the smile.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock stood at the window playing a slow tune on his violin. It was roughly 11:35 at night. John was lying on the couch, reading. He could feel the heaviness of sleep closing in on him but he didn't want to go to bed. He wanted to stay up as long as he could to listen to Sherlock play.

His eyelids drooped shut, John didn't try to fight them. He put his book down on his chest and listened silently to Sherlock play. He drifted off into dreams of him and Sherlock.

Sherlock was now aware of a soft snoring sound coming from the couch. He stopped playing and turned. He saw John asleep on the couch, one hand still holding a book and the other draped lazily across his chest. Sherlock smiled at the sight.

He looks so peaceful. I wonder what he's dreaming about.

Sherlock put his violin back in his case and walked over to the couch. He leaned down and carefully took the book from John's fingers and placed it on the table. He slowly slid his hands under the sleeping man, trying not to wake him. He lifted John up and leaned him against his own chest. John slightly smiled and curled up closer to Sherlock. Sherlock tried and failed to contain his smile. He walked to John's room, careful not to wake John and opened the door. He set John onto his bed and pulled the covers over him.

"Goodnight John." Sherlock whispered and placed a tiny kiss on John's forehead and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock lay in his bed, thinking about John when a small knock at his door drew him away from his thoughts.

"Sherlock?" John opened the door slightly. Sherlock could see John's face illuminated by the hall light.

"Are you asleep?" John's voice came again.

"No."

"Can I come sleep in here? I had a bad dream." Sherlock smiled.

"Yes." Sherlock scooted from his usual spot in the center of the bed to the side to let John slide under the covers.

"What was it about? If you don't mind telling." Sherlock turned on his side to look at him. John did the same, noticing that Sherlock wasn't wearing a shirt.

"Are you wearing pants?" John asked. Sherlock smiled and nodded. The room was suddenly quiet as John thought about his dream.

"I saw you in my dream. You were standing on the top of a roof and I was there instead of Moriarty. In my dream, I was the one making you jump." John's voice got caught in his throat.

Sherlock reached a hand and placed it on John's arm to try to comfort him.

A few minutes later John broke the silence.

"Sherlock, this might sound weird but, can I snuggle with you?" John asked almost too quietly to hear.

Sherlock didn't respond. He only pulled John close to him and wrapped his arms around John.

"You can always snuggle with me." Even in the dark Sherlock could see John smiling.

John placed his hands on Sherlock's chest. It was bare and warm against John's hands. He could feel Sherlock's steady heartbeat, he could feel Sherlock's breathing, moving his hands just slightly each time. He could feel a bandage that was still on Sherlock's shoulder. John scooted closer to Sherlock so that their everything was touching. John felt Sherlock tummy press against his (his shirt has risen up). He could fell his head rest against the detective's chest, hearing his breathing and heartbeat. He felt their feet and legs intertwine.

"I love you too John. I stopped doing drugs the day I met you. You had a certain...thing about you that made me want to be clean. You are my drug now. I just need to see you making tea in the mornings to make me happy." Sherlock's head was leaned down looking at John. John looked up to Sherlock, his eyes just barely visible by the street light seeping in from the window.

"I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier." Sherlock smiled.

John smiled and leaned his head up and kissed Sherlock. Sherlock's stomach flipped at the sudden, very intimate contact but soon became full of butterflies. John reached a hand up to Sherlock's hair and began playing with it. The kiss soon became intense and hungry. Sherlock's hands were prying around John's waist.

John let out a low moan when Sherlock's hand pressed against his groin. Sherlock did it again to get John to moan. It was an amazing sound.

"Sherlock." John whimpered.

"Yes John?" Sherlock said, now planting a trail of soft kisses down John's jawline.

John gasped and gripped Sherlock's hair harder when he nipped at the sensitive skin by his collarbone.

"I want you." John managed to gasp out, his hands were on Sherlock's back, encouraging Sherlock in what he did.

"You can have all of me." Sherlock was pulling on John's pants, trying to get them off.

John rolled over on top of Sherlock and straddled Sherlock's waist.

Sherlock began to take John's shirt off and over his head. He took a moment to look at the doctor nearly naked. He shivered at the sight. He was tan and muscular. His shoulders square and military but still soft and rounded. For the first time, he saw the bullet wound scar. It was like a hole in a perfect canvas but he liked it. He rested his hands on John's waist and smiled.

"You're beautiful." Sherlock gasped.

John smiled at the complement and leaned down to Sherlock's chest and kissed the center. He placed soft and teasing kisses everywhere on Sherlock's chest and stomach.

Sherlock gasped and bucked his hips into John when he kissed his nipple.

John smiled. He moved down to Sherlock's stomach, just barely above his pants line. He bit the cloth an began pulling with his teeth. Sherlock sat up and helped take off his pants and John's pants.

The rest of that evening was spent in a very intimate way. Kisses and hair pulling. A hand here and a mouth there.

they ended up falling asleep in eachother's arms.

That morning, Sherlock woke before John. He looked down at the peacfully sleeping doctor. Sherlock mindlessley played with John's hair until the alarm clock in John's room interruped the silence throughout the flat.

"John. Your alarm clock is going off." Sherlock shook John's shoulder gently.

"Huh?" John lifted his head up to look at Sherlock.

"Do you work today?" Sherlock asked.

John sighed. "Yeah. I work at 9:00. What time is it?"

"8:oo."

John sat up completely and stretched his arms and yawned.

"I'm going to go take a shower." John smiled at Sherlock and stood up.

"Be quick. I need one too." Sherlock sat up and stretched. He sat there for a while thinking. Soon he wandered to his mind palace.

He knew exactly where he was going. John's room. He found the door and pushed it open. The room had completely changed since he was last in there. The large shelves of files were now condensed into one small cabinent. The walls were filled with videos and photos of John. Him, lying beneath Sherlock, with a pleasured look on his face. Him when Sherlock first kissed him in the kitchen. And of course, the very detailed picture of John's face. The nearly emotionless, neutral face. He sighed and grinned.

Sherlock then decided to look at the few files in the room. He picked up the biggest one.

He flipped the cover open to the front page. It was all John's likes an dislikes.

FAVORITE SONG: All of me-John legend

FAVORITE CANDY BAR: Milky way

FAVORITE FLOWER: Lillies

FAVORITE BOOK: Pride and Prejudice

DISLIKES: -

The last one was empty. That's odd. Why is it empty? Sherlock set down the file and walked out of the room. He walked back to the entrance and entered the real world.

When he opened his eyes, he saw John looking at the photos on Sherlock's dresser. He was facing away from the bed. He held a shiny frame with a photo of young Sherlock.

"That was me in primary school. If you were wondering." John turned around to see Sherlock sitting in his pants cross legged, looking at him.

John chuckled. "You were adorable."

"I was fat. How is that adorable?" Sherlock stood up and walked toward the doctor and wrapped his arms around John's waist and placed his head on his shoulder.

"You were not fat Sherlock. Bathroom's free by the way." John put the frame down and turned to face sherlock.

"I have to get to work." He placed his hand on the side of Sherlock's face and kissed the detective lightly.

Sherlock groaned and let go of John.

"I'll be back at 2:00." John called behind him from the bedroom door.

The apartment grew silent. Sherlock walked to the bathroom and closed the door.

John stepped out the door of the flat and stood on the edge of the sidewalk. There were no taxis in sight.

"Are you John Watson?" said a voice from behind him.

John turned around to see a scraggly looking man no taller than him looking at him.

"Yes." John said hesitantly. "Why?"

The man didn't answer. He only smiled. John looked confused. The man reached inside his pocket and pulled out a syringe. John didn't have time to react before the man lunged at him and stuck the needle into his neck.

"Wha?" John immediately felt the effect of the drug. His eyelids became heavy and it got hard to stand. He began to stumble and fell. He blacked out when his skull hit the ground.

Sherlock wrapped his towel around his waist and opened the door of the bathroom. He turned toward his room to go get dressed.

He opened a drawer and pulled out a white dress shirt, black trousers, and purple underwear. He got dressed quiclky and turned in to look in the mirror.

He shook his head violently to get the water out of his hair and then ruffled it with his hand to get it to its usual look. He smiled at himself and walked into the kitchen. He stood for a moment, listening to the loud silence that filled his ears. There was a soft noize behind him that made him whirl around. Now in front of him was a small scraggly man no taller than John standing in the doorway.

Sherlock's instincts kicked in and he threw a puch at the man. The man jumped back, just barely avoiding the punch. He leaped at Sherlock, knocking him to the ground.

He injected a needle into Sherlock's neck. Instantly he felt the effect. His head spun and it was impossible to grab thoughts and hold on to them. He looked at the man.

"It's time to sleep Sherlock Holmes." The man smiled to reveal a drug addict's teeth. Sherlock blacked out.

"Sherlock! Wake up! Sherlock!" John's voice cleared away the dizziness in Sherlock's head. He slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head. At first he was confused as to where John's voice was coming from and where he was.

"Sherlock?" His eyes focused on the center of the dim room and saw where John was. He was chained to a post. His shirt torn in the back, revealing an already marked back.

"John?" Sherlock tried to move toward him but was stopped by chains holding his limbs to a wall.

"John. What's going on?"

"I don't know. I woke up chained here."

Sherlock looked around the room. It was small with only one light bulb in the center. The only thing in the room besides them was a door on the far wall.

The door opened and a man was standing there.

"Bad choice to reject that client Sherlock." His stomach flipped at the sound of the voice. It was Moriarty.

"Now I guess you two lovebirds have to pay the price. I wanted to have some fun with you by setting you on a a wild goose chase." Moriarty walked toward John and placed a possessive hand on John's back. He flinched at Moriarty's touch.

It took all of Sherlock's self control to not scream and try get free of his bonds.

Moriarty leaned down next to John and grabbed a handfull of his hair and yanked his head back.

Sherlock stood and leaned toward John as far as he could go but was still 10 feet away.

"But this will be much better. Don't you think Sherlock?" Moriarty dropped John's head and stood and walked over to Sherlock.

Moriarty slapped Sherlock fiercly. His head was yanked to the side. His cheek began to swell. Moriarty slapped him again but on the other cheek.

"John will have to pay for you. Just like usual." Moriarty smirked. He turned on his heel and walked back toward John.

He picked up a whip that was lying next to John. Sherlock quickly realized what was going to happen.

"No Don't!" Sherlock pleaded. Moriarty lifted the whip above John and dropped it onto John's back so hard that John cried out. "Stop! Please!" Sherlock was pulling agianst his restraints, not caring that the cuffs around his wrists and ankles were digging into him. Moriarty repeated his action again and again. "No!" Sherlock kept screaming.

Sherlock could see the blood dripping down John's back and creating a pool around his feet.

Once again, Moriarty raised the whip.

Sherlock thought quickly. "Whip me." He said quietly.

"Whip me instead! I don't care what you do to me, just stop hurting John!" Sherlock yelled.

Moriarty stopped mid-swing. Sherlock could see a smile inching across his face.

He dropped the whip and walked out of the room."John?" Sherlock asked, worry dripping from his voice. "John, are you okay?"

There was no responce. Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest.

"John. Answer me please." Sherlock started to panic.

He waited a few moments to see if he would. Nothing.

"John! Answer me!" Sherlock felt the tears prickling at the edges of his eyes.

"John!" He screamed. He pulled against his restraints.

"John! Please! You can't die on me!" Tears flowed out of his eyes. John hadn't moved an inch.

The door swung open to reveal Moriarty standing there with a gun. He walked over to John's lifeless body and put the barrel to his head.

"Just for good measure." Moriarty said with a growing, evil grin. He pulled the trigger and there was a lound booming sound.

Sherlock shot straight up in bed screaming.

"NO!" Sherlock looked around. He was sitting in his bed. John was now awake looking at him.

"Sherlock? What's wrong?" John reached his hand up to Sherlock's bare shoulder. He jumped at the touch.

Sherlock looked at John for a minute. He had a worried look on his face.

At first Sherlock couldn't say anything. Tears began running down his cheeks. John's expression changed from worried to sincere. He pulled Sherlock into his arms and held him in a tight hug.

At first, John didn't know what to do or say. He had never seen Sherlock cry.

Eventually, Sherlock stopped and just sat in John's arms.

"I had a dream that you died." Sherlock said in a very small voice, so small that John barely heard him.

"That's not going to happen Sherlock." John began petting Sherlock's hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

Sherlock smiled.

John lifted Sherlock's head. He was slightly surprised at the emotion in Sherlock's eyes and written all over his face.

"Don't worry. I will always be here for you." John smiled at him. In return, Sherlock gave a very rare half grin.

John gave Sherlock a small kiss, layed down, and pulled Sherlock close to him.

Sherlock placed his head next to John's chest. He breathed in the scent of John. He smelled sweet with a hint of... Sherlock couldn't identify it. But whatever it was, he really liked it.

"Goodnight Sherlock." John whispered.

"Goodnight John." Sherlock whispered back.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, John woke to music. He checked the clock on Sherlock's night stand.

111:38 am.

He looked over to the side of him. Sherlock was nowhere to seen.

John stood from the bed, put on a pair of Pajama pants and walked out into the kitchen. Sherlock was standing in the kitchen with pajama pants and an apron on. There were cooking ingredients strewn all over the counter. Sherlock was facing awar from John, whisking something surprisingly fast in a bowl.

"Sherlock? What are you doing?" Sherlock turned around, still whisking.

"Cooking something." Sherlock smiled.

From the oven, a timer sounded. Sherlock momentarily abandoned the bowl and rushed over to the oven, slipping on oven mitts. He reached into the oven and pulled out a small chocolate cake that looked like heaven on a plate. A sweet smell filled the flat.

John sighed. "That smell good. What is it?" John went and stood behind the counter where the abandoned bowl sat.

"Just something I decided to make for you." Sherlock quickly set the pan down and returned to the bowl.

Sherlock began singing along to the opera playing on the stereo. John's smile grew wider as he watched Sherlock cook and listened to his deep voice trying to match the high pitches on the songs.

Eventually Sherlock stopped bustling about the kitchen and placed a place in front of John. He looked down to see a small cake glazed in caramel and chocolate glaze with a peppermint leaf placed on the top of the cake.

"Bon apetite." Sherlock was off again as quickly as he was there. But instead of making something he was cleaning up his mess.

John took a bite and moaned from the overwhelming flavors. "Where did you learn to cook like this? This is amazing."

"Self taught." Was Sherlock's only reply.

Sherlock finished cleaning the kitchen, took off the dirty apron to reveal a bare, muscular chest. He smiled. He knew John was watching him. Just for fun, Sherlock reached his arms up above his head and stretched.

When he looked at John, his mouth was hanging half open and the fork holding another peice of cake was stuck bewteen the plate and John. There was a dreamy look in his eyes.

"John, you're staring." Sherlock casually walked over to John and hugged him from behind. Jonh snapped out if his trance, put the fork down, and hugged Sherlock back.

"That cake thing was amazing. Thank you." John leaned his head back into Sherlock's shoulder.

"You're welcome. I'm glad you enjoyed it." Sherlock nipped at John's neck playfully.

"What do you want to do today? I don't work until 5:00." John asked.

Well, I don't have any cases. Why don't we just stay here?" Sherlock kissed the sensitive spot just above John's colar bone. John started playing with Sherlock's hair.

"Sounds good." John replied.

Sherlock lay on the couch watching crap telly. John had just gotten out of the shower.

"Whatcha watching?" John asked as he walked into the TV room wearing the pajama pants.

"The price is right. These idiots actually think that all of this stuff is worth 20,000 pounds." Sherlock scoffed at the TV.

John went and layed down on the couch next to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's chest.

A few minutes went by withought them saying anything.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm."

"Was there any reason for making that cake?"

"Not really. I just wanted to cook."

"Well, why didn't you cook for yourself?"

"I don't like to eat. You know this."

Neither of them said anything for a while.

"Why?" John asked, looking up at Sherlock.

"Why what?"

"Why don't you like to eat?"

Sherlock didn't answer for a minute or two.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed. "You know you are the first person to ask that." He paused. "I don't like to eat becasue...I was anorexic as a kid." Sherlock said the last part softly.

John was stunned. "What?" was all he could manage to say.

"I was fat as a kid and hated it. So I decided to not eat. And now, I'm skinny and still have a habit of not eating. Simple as that."

John didn't know what to say.

They sat in silence for the rest of the afternoon.

"Ready to go?" Sherlock asked.

"I would be if I could find my coat." John walked past Sherlock and into the bedroom.

Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently. "This was your idea. If we're late, I'm not going."

John walked out of the bedroom with his coat finally. "You will go, whether we're late or not."

Sherlock sighed as he closed and locked the door after them. "If we're late, we'll lose our reservation."

Sherlock began waving his arm to get a cab.

"Why don't we walk? It's not that far." John asked.

Sherlock stopped and looked at John. "You want to walk?"

"Yeah."

"If you insist."

Sherlock and John started walking down the street in silence.

Sherlock reached his hand over to John's and lightly grabbed it.

He look at Sherlock and smiled.

"Now people will definately talk."

"Who cares what they say?" Sherlock smirked and returned to staring straight ahead at the sidewalk. John's smile grew wider and he laced his fingers with Sherlock's.

Even though John couldn't see it, Sherlock smiled and kept smiling the whole way to the restaurant.

When they reached the restaurant, John looked slightly surprised at the fanciness of it.

"When you said we were going somewhere fancy, I didn't think you meant Shay's. You need a reservation 3 months in advance. How did you do it?" John turned his eyes away from the building to Sherlock.

"Magic." Was all Sherlock said.

They walked in to the restaurant and up to the small podium where a waiter sat.

"Do you have reservations?" The waiter said without looking up from what ever he was reading.

"Yes. Holmes for two."

The waiter looked up.

"In the private section." Sherlock said smiling.

"Ah yes Mr. Holmes. Right this way please." The waiter stepped from behind the podium and led them to the back of the restaurant.

John's mouth fell open when he saw where they were going to be sitting for the evening.

It was a large room with very expensive lookking chairs and drapes. It had a Coy fish pond in the back corner and in the other corner, a completely draped off area that looked rediculously overpriced. A waiter with a cart filled with amazing looking cheeses and deserts was walking around the room. There were only a few people scatterd amongst the room.

"Sherlock. Are you serious?"

"We haven't reached where we're sitting yet." Sherlock smirked at John's face.

They walked over the draped off area and the waiter held the curtain up to reveal what was hiding inside of it. There was a large bed-like couch with a table in the center that was empty.

John couldn't even say anything at this point.

Sherlock led him into the room and shooed the waiter away.

"So, what do you think?" Sherlock looked at John who was admiring the designs on the inside of the curtains.

"Sherlock its..." John turned his head to look at the detective. "It's amazing! How did you ever get this reservation?"

"I made a few phone calls, used quite a bit of black mail. You know, just pulled a few strings." Sherlock couldn't stop smiling.

"Don't worry about the cost of food. It's free with this kind of reservation." Sherlock informed him. He reached over to the curtain and pulled it back and tied it to a string.

"To let the waiters know that we want food."

"Ah."

They only had to wait a few moments for a waiter to come around with a small pad and paper.

"And what do you wish to drink today?" The waiter said in a frence accent.

"1934 French Red Pinot Guer. Please. And some Orange rinded Goulda please." Sherlock said without hesitation.

"Mm Hm." The waiter nodded. "And would you like the couple's special?"

"Just the wine and cheese." Sherlock shooed him away.

After the waiter left, Sherlock scooted closer to John and wrapped his arm around the doctor. John cuddled in next to him and sighed.

"Sometimes I wonder how you do it Sherlock." John looked up at him.

"I Already told you, Magic." Sherlock leaned down and gave John a small kiss on the lips.

John smiled.

When Sherlock and John got done with their meal, it was about 11:00. For their main course, John ate a medium rare steak while Sherlock ate spaghetti.

"Okay serioulsy, what was all this for?" John asked looking up at Sherlock who was twirling the leftover spiaghetti noodles around with his fork.

"Someone owed me a favor. I saw the chance and took it." Sherlock said.

The waiter came around with the check. John kept trying to sneak peeks at how much the dinner had really cost but Sherlock kept hiding the price from him. On their way out, they recieved small chocolates.

"Great. It's raining." John sighed. "Are you sure you don't want to catch a cab?"

Sherlock took off his coat and held it over their heads like an umbrella. "No, it's just rain."

John smiled.

They walked the few blocks back to baker street under the cover of Sherlock's coat.

When they got to the door, John ducked under the small roofing above the door while Sherlock slipped his coat back on.

I wonder. Sherlock thought as he looked at John. He walked over to the doctor. The height difference made it rather difficult to be able to look each other in the eyes. John looked up, while Sherlock looked down.

"I want to try something." Sherlock said in his low, syrupy voice that John loved.

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and led him back into the rain and into the carless street.

"What are we doing Sherlock?"

Sherlock didn't respond. He only pulled the doctor close to him. Sherlock held John's face in his hands.

He leaned down and gently kissed the army doctor on the lips. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck and deepened the kiss.

An obviously drunk driver swerved past them and yelled, "Get out of the road freaks!"

Sherlock broke the kiss and laughed.

"A kiss in the rain. What a great day to end this day." John smiled at Sherlock.

"So you liked today?" Sherlock looked down at John.

"God yes!" John replied.

That evening, John and Sherlock spent their time in each other's arms, whispering sweet things into each other's ear. Laughing about random things. Enjoying each other's company.


	5. Chapter 5

When John and Sherlock walked into Lestrade's office they were holding hands.

Lestrade's mouth dropped. At first Sherlock didn't notice but when John nudged him with his shoulder, Sherlock looked.

"What? Why are you gaping?" Sherlock gave him a cold look.

Lestrade just pointed down at their hands. Sherlock looked down at John and Sherlock's hands intertwined together.

"Yes. And?" Sherlock's tone suggested that he was getting annoyed at the awe from Lestrade.

Lestrade cleared his throat and stood from his chair. "I just never guessed that you two..." Lestrade stopped.

"Anyways. Onto the case." John suggested.

"Yes. Good Idea. So, a mass murder. 26 people killed in one building by a fiery death. What's the link between them all? Aside from the way they died, the hair color. Red." Lestrade continued to tell them about the case.

"There's no way of telling who the killer is. All we know is that he has a prejudice against redheads."

Sherlock thought for a minute. "Can we visit the murder scene?"

Sherlock and John took a cab to the abandoned building while Lestrade, as usual, rode in his own personal car. Sherlock sat leaning toward the window, looking at the passing cars.

"What are you thinking?" John nudged Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock turned towards John. "I'm thinking, why redheads? Why not blondes? Or Brunettes?"

"Superstition?" John suggested. "The Ancient Romans thought that Redheads were witches."

Sherlock didn't respond. He only turned back to the window and continued to look out the window. John reached for Sherlock's hands and intertwined their fingers and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Sherlock once again looked at the army doctor. John warmly smiled. Sherlock returned the smile and turned back to the window. Every few minutes, Sherlock would tap in morse code, 'I love you' on John's hand. John would tap, 'I know' back.

When they reached the crime scene, Sherlock couldn't help but smile at being on a case.

"This is it. All 26 charred skeletons are in the building. Well, when I say in the building, i mean underneath."

Sherlock turned his head to look at Lestrade, waiting for an explanation.

"It's an abandoned church from the 1700s. It has old tunnels underneath. The smallest of them lead to a sort of room. That's where the bodies are."

"Then how did you know about the murders?" John asked, puzzled.

"There was smoke filling the church and going out the chimney. Some locals saw it, knowing it was abandoned, called the police. They said they thought it was some kids playing around in there." Lestrade laughed and started walking towards the church. John and Sherlock followed.

The church was in ruins. The stained class windows were broken, there was no furniture in the building, and it smelled of smoke. They walked to an open door at the other side of the chapel. It was taped off with police tape.

At the crime scene, John had to breath through his mouth not to gag. Lestrade used a scarf to filter the smell. Sherlock didn't seem to be affected by the rotting, burned fleshy smell.

"How are you not throwing up right now?" John asked.

"I have a strong stomach." Sherlock replied.

Sherlock bent down and started to examine the nearest skeleton. He spent a few minutes on each one until he stood and started to brush off his pants.

"Well, what do you have?" Lestrade asked, his voice muffled by the scarf he was holding to his nose and mouth.

"Most of the corpses are between 17 and 29. All women. And you're right, all redheads. Going by the marks on their wrists, they were forced in here. There's traces of struggle so we know they weren't drugged. Whoever did this used gasoline and a lighter. Going by the flame marks, the fire burnt for a good 45 minutes. But that wasn't enough to eliminate finger prints that you would miss. On the gas can in the corner. There's partial finger prints. Might be enough to catch the killer or narrow it down to just a few." Sherlock turned around to look at John and Lestrade.

"Brilliant." John whispered. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at John's admiration.

It was late at night when they were finally on their way back to the flat. John was laying on Sherlock's lap. One of Sherlock's hand was playing with John's sandy hair, while the other was intertwined with John's. John was drifting off into sleep when they arrived.

"John." Sherlock quietly whispered and nudged his shoulder. John's eyes slowly opened. He looked up at Sherlock, who was staring down at the army doctor.

"Are we back already?" John asked.

"Yes."

John sat up at stretched. He payed the cabbie and the both got out.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock are you coming to bed?" John asked.

Sherlock was sitting in his chair steepling his hands under his chin, looking at the pictures taken from the crime scene.

"No probably not. You go on ahead." Sherlock replied to John without turning his head to look at the doctor.

John sighed. "Well, be sure to give that big brain of yours a rest sometime tonight okay?"

Sherlock only mumbled something resembling an okay.

John gave Sherlock one last glance before heading to the bedroom they now shared.

Moments later, Sherlock heard John's horrified scream come from the hall. Immediately he jumped up from where he was sitting and rushed down the hall to see what was the matter.

When he threw the door to the room open he saw John on the bed pointing to something on the floor. He Glanced over at Sherlock and yelled, "SHERLOCK KILL IT!" In a rather high and shrill tone. Sherlock walked closer to where John was pointing to see a spider roughly the size of a grape minding its own business.

Sherlock burst into laughter.

"What's so funny? Why are you laughing?" John asked angrily from his perch on the bed.

"You-" Sherlock gasped between giggles. "You're afraid of a spider! And its tiny!" Sherlock began laughing again. "And here I thought it was something serious!" Sherlock wiped tears from his eyes from laughing so hard.

"This is serious Sherlock. I'm terrified of spiders." John was rather annoyed at Sherlock now.

Sherlock finally stopped laughing enough to concentrate on killing the miniscule creature. He walked over to the spider and squished it with his foot.

"Happy now that the innocent creature is dead?" Sherlock teased.

"It's not innocent." John climbed down from the bed. "It's probably responsible for thousands of deaths of humans and animals with its disgusting venom." John made a face and walked over to Sherlock.

"John, that was just a jumping spider. It couldn't hurt you if it wanted to. But I highly doubt it wants to. It doesn't even have enough venom to even make its bites itch."

"It's still creepy. Thank you for killing it." John hugged Sherlock around the waist and set his head on his chest. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's shoulders and hugged him back.

"You're welcome John." Sherlock replied.

The next morning when John woke up, Sherlock wasn't in the bed. Come to think of it, Sherlock hadn't even come to bed that night. John put on his tan bathrobe and walked quietly to the kitcken.

Sitting in his chair was Sherlock, still in the same position as last night. John, doubted if he had even moved since the spider incident last night.

"Sherlock?" John called, walking over to the detective.

Sherlock didn't move a muscle.

"Sherlock, at least give me some sign you're alive." John crossed his arms.

Sherlock blinked a few times, but still said nothing.

John leaned down and put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. "Sherlock, I know you're in there. Come back to me." John smiled as Sherlock's indescribable eyes wandered from their fixed point up to john's face. "There you are. What were you doing in that big head of yours?" John asked.

"Thinking about the case." Sherlock stood and wrapped his arms around John in a hug.

"Did you come up with anything?" John asked, his head pressed against Sherlock's chest.

"I have absolutely nothing. This is infuriating. I don't like not knowing things." Sherlock's face turned down into a frown.

"I'm sure you'll get something eventually." the army doctor replied.

Sherlock rested his head on John's and closed his eyes. He never noticed how tired he really was. All he wanted to do was lay down in his soft, warm bed and wrap his arms around John and just fall asleep engulfed in John's love.

"Sherlock, you seem tired. Why don't you go to bed for a few hours. The case can wait." John looked up to Sherlock. john noticed that Sherlock's eyes were droopy and had dark circles under them. He definitely needed sleep.

Sherlock mumbled and okay and shuffled to the bedroom. He didn't bother changing into his pajamas. He flopped down on the bed and was out almost instantly. The last thing he remembered before sleep took him was John kissing him on the forehead and whispering, "I'm off to work. I love you."

***OMYGOD IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN SUCH A LONG TIME! I've had so much going on! I just started my second year in High School and I have so much homework! And my laptop broke for a few months. So...yeah. But anyways, tell me what you think! And remember, I LOVE YOU ALL!***


End file.
